


Suzumushi

by rainshowers



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Falling In Love, Multi, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-20 07:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16551758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainshowers/pseuds/rainshowers
Summary: Every ending marks a new beginning.With the Red Dragon’s clipped wings, their cat-and-mouse chase has finally reached its conclusion. They’ve come together at last—not as predator and prey, but as two people standing on equal footing—and they’re about to embark on their next chapter.





	1. Prologue

A petite, Asian brunette leaned against the smooth backrest of the leather couch across the tall, opened window of an abandoned watchtower—unconsciously humming to herself an unfamiliar tune that she had picked up sometime during her ten-hour flight from New York to this Baltic country. With her night vision goggles resting on the crown of her head, she let her tired eyes stay focused on the gigantic steel gates as she adjusted the scope of the polished Remington 700 perched on top of a wooden table, wary of any sign of movements coming from beyond the heavy steel barriers of the estate.

The only light that illuminated the room was the dim lamp that she had purposely left on the other side of the door, but it wasn’t enough to shake the feeling that everything around her was in ruins. The patterned fabric wallpaper that was once neatly pressed to cover the dirty-gray stones was now torn as if a savage animal had clawed on it, the rotten wooden floors were covered in shards of broken glass from the window, and the furniture and paintings that once decorated the tower, as well as the enormous castle standing undisturbed on a hill in the center of all the abandoned houses, were long gone.

It was peacefully beautiful, but even if it was easy to imagine what the estate looked like during its prime, the darkness only allowed her to see the state that it was currently in.

It had been three days since she was left alone to her own devices and all she could remember was her eyes trailing after a rented car from the city. She looked at her wristwatch, admiring the worn-out leather straps holding together an aged lug with a golden case, before letting out a soft sigh. It was already a quarter past eleven. She had been guarding her post for almost twelve hours each day, patiently waiting for someone who might or might not even come back to this country.

_She could just leave and never return_ , the brunette thought to herself during her second day, yet she couldn’t bring herself to walk away. Perhaps the feeling of obligation was enough to justify why she was still sitting in a cold, dark tower with a sniper rifle carefully positioned in front of her.

She saw two bright orbs floating from a distance, making her look down on the scope of her gun in haste, and was relieved to see that it was the same rented car she thought she was never going to see again. The woman scoped in to check who was on the front seat and tried to get a good look at the two figures concealed in the back. With a disbelieving snort, she took out her pistol, arranged her goggles, and made her way down the steep, spiral staircase of the watchtower.

She opened one of the gates to let the car in, surveying the perimeter for anyone who might have followed them, before closing it and hopping onto the front passenger seat. The car was deliciously warm.

“I was hoping you’d be gone by now,” the woman behind the wheel didn’t even risk a glance at her as she greeted her with a cold voice. “The dark can be very terrifying when you only have your thoughts to talk to.”

The brunette gave a short chuckle, turning to face the driver’s seat as she removed her night vision goggles. “Bold of you to assume that I’m even thinking. You know me better than that, Chiyoh.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Chiyoh gave a small grin without taking her eyes off the road, a somewhat unusual expression for the woman sitting parallel to her. She felt a swell of pride at being able to make Chiyoh smile—especially upon learning that the other woman had been alone by herself in all those years of being in service—and it was something that the brunette had since put on her mental to-do list whenever she was in Aukštaitija.

She turned her attention to the two people at the back, angling her body just right to get a better look at them. Having read the Red Dragon’s files at the Academy and see the case updates from Freddie Lounds’ website, it was more than a surprise to see that both of them had survived the escape.

She dragged her eyes from one man to another and noted that although they were both dressed in fresh, clean clothes, their bruises and trophies from the fight were still visible. The younger man sitting on the right had stitches on his right cheek while the older, unconscious man had a large gauze with visible blood stains plastered on his side.

The man with stitches was silently watching the older man breathe out soft puffs of air. She didn’t even know if the man was even aware that she was staring at them or he just didn’t care. He was drawing out small circles on the older man’s hand with his thumb as if he was trying to reassure him—whether the unconscious man or himself, the brunette wasn’t sure—that they were safe. They painted a picture that looked like they were hunched together in a world of their own.

It was too intimate of a scene for an audience to watch.

As she was about to right herself, however, the younger man shifted his gaze to her and offered a quiet greeting in a raspy voice. “Hello. I believe we haven’t been introduced.”

“Professor Graham,” the brunette managed to reply politely without ducking her head. The man never liked eye contact, that much was obvious from the start, and so it was no wonder that he didn’t know who she was. She offered him a small smile before finally sitting straight to give them some privacy, settling for just glancing at the rear-view mirror to take a peek of the man’s expression. “It’s good to see that you came out alive.”

She saw Graham look back at the older man, a look of worry washing over his features, before clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, I feel like I should know you.”

“I was one of your students.”

That seemed to catch the man’s attention. She saw him flick his eyes in Chiyoh’s direction, trying to detect any hint of betrayal from the woman. When he found none, the man turned back to her. “Which one?”

The car slowed to a stop in front of the castle, the engines died down almost immediately, and they were once again engulfed in darkness. Chiyoh was the first one to get out to retrieve a lamp inside while the brunette took out a pocket-size flashlight strapped on her right leg. She got out of the car and opened the rear door to help Graham with the older man’s body.

The brunette smiled once more at the younger man who was waiting for her answer. “Clarice Starling. Shall we?”


	2. Laisvė

 

_Dark._

That was the last thing that registered in his mind before they plunged into the vast nothingness of the Atlantic. It truly was a short drop from a long way off and it was bizarre to know that he could even muster a thought. Strangely enough, he didn’t feel the impact of the fall, didn’t even feel the waves slapping on him as they slowly descend the cold waters of the ocean.

It only felt as if he was floating on a cloudy haze and the only thing blaring in his mind was that he had to grip onto the man wrapped around him as tightly as he could.

He didn’t count how many seconds or minutes they had stayed underwater, there was no telling if he was even alive at this point as he couldn’t seem to picture the outline of the man he was clutching. _Everything could end here tonight_ , he thought, their story had finally reached its conclusion and there was no certainty where they would go from here. A part of him wanted to drag them further down the ocean, willing to see what would happen if they had just stayed there, suspended in their own little bubble while everything around them screamed in chaos.

But the waves seemed to have another idea, however, as they pushed their bodies up to the surface to gasp for air.

He coughed harshly then breathed loudly with his mouth. The moonlight was enough for him to see the creases of the man’s face. He put a hand in front of the man, trying to check if he was still breathing, and sighed in relief when he felt a warm air coming from the man’s nose. With all the strength he had left in him, he wrapped the man’s arms around his neck and swam north. It was the only direction they were allowed to go.

There was a nagging thought at the back of his mind that maybe he miscalculated his escape plan and both of them had no hope of surviving tonight. It was trying to discourage him from moving forward, trying to exhaust his willpower. He was slowly losing consciousness and, with it, hope. He didn’t know what to expect.

Amidst the gentle but unforgiving waves, there was a voice echoing in the wind. It was melodious, an oasis in his barren mind. He realized then that someone was indeed yelling overhead and he wouldn’t have heard it if it wasn’t for the bright light that directly shone in his face. He tried to squint, tried to make out what and who was in front of him, but he only heard a woman’s voice yelling what sounded like a command in a foreign language he had heard before: Japanese.

“Will, stay with us,” the woman— _Chiyoh_ , he finally remembered—was repeatedly telling him in a soft, comforting voice, soothing his worry away. He felt several arms suddenly grabbing him, hoisting him up from the water and he briefly fought them as he felt the man with him slipping away from his grip, unwilling to let him go, before finally letting his arms go slack. He shivered as the cold air hit him, biting and rattling his bones. Chiyoh nodded to someone behind him and he felt one man wrap a heavy towel around his shoulders, guiding him inside the vessel.

It was a yacht, he soon realized. A yacht with an incredibly posh interior. He looked behind and saw Hannibal on a stretcher wheeled by two men. An older man conversed with the two men in Japanese, instructing them of what to do next, and Will just stood there staring at the man lying down. When the men began to undress Hannibal to change him of his clothes, Chiyoh turned to Will.

“You’re late,” he managed to tell her through gritted teeth. Finding a way to contact Chiyoh in such a short amount of time was harder than Will thought it would be and so it was a relief to see that she got the message he sent her before Dolarhyde even showed up. Chiyoh tilted her head, regarding him with an arched brow, “I believe there’s something you should tell me first.”

Will smiled with teeth, clutching the towel around him tightly. The heat inside the yacht wasn’t enough to warm him up. “Thank you, Chiyoh. I mean it.”

The older Japanese man standing beside Hannibal’s stretcher said something that caught Chiyoh’s attention. Will immediately followed her line of sight and saw that the man was lying on his left side with shirt half-way up, an ugly gunshot wound marred the otherwise perfect skin. He wanted to check on him, to at least see what the problem was and how he could help, but his feet felt glued to the polished wooden floor of the yacht.

“Go dry yourself,” Chiyoh told him with a nod, she must’ve noticed the worry stretching on his face. She motioned to his left cheek. “We might need to stitch your face and your shoulder.”

“Hannibal,” he said, the name sounded foreign on his tongue as it came out in a croak. Will cleared his throat, gesturing to the man. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

Although Will couldn’t see his face, Hannibal seemed peaceful lying there. He must have been dosed with sedatives, he thought, trying to console himself with an alternative to seeing Hannibal die on his watch. The man didn’t make a sound, didn’t move a bit to show discomfort even though blood was still oozing from his wound—he just breathed there, unmoving, and it was starting to send bubbles of panic in Will’s throat.

“It will take more than that to kill him,” he heard Chiyoh say, momentarily distracting him from thinking about death. The woman ordered something to the man who gave him his towel, possibly to get him out of there, before turning back to Will. “For now, go do what I asked of you. We know what we’re doing.”

The man ushered him to move along with an arm stretched out to support his back. Will could feel the protest in his mouth begging to come out, but his body was already giving up on him. He sighed and let himself be guided to wherever the man was taking him. Just before they entered another cabin, however, Will turned his head slightly to the side without actually looking back from where he came from. “Don’t let him die.”

There was a pregnant pause, the words hanging in the air as he listened to his own heartbeat, and Chiyoh answered him with a promise. “I won’t.”

 

 

⧉ ⧉ ⧉ ⧉ ⧉

 

 

Will slipped in and out of consciousness for the rest of their voyage—well, perhaps immediately after he had changed out of his wet clothes that even the memory of the old man stitching him was already hazy. He was so out of it that he didn’t know how many times they had transferred from one vehicle to another. All he could remember was that they somehow managed to leave the yacht and got in on an SUV with tinted car windows and an apple-scented air freshener. The rest of the ride was a blur of street lights and filled with voices of men who conversed quietly in Japanese.

His head hurt with a dull ache and his shoulder felt sore, but he felt relaxed and sleepy. It was a good feeling if only he wasn’t running away from his own government. A surge of panic threatened Will once more and he tried to focus his eyes around the darkness inside the car, helplessly attempting to make out the shadowy figures sitting around him. He couldn’t tell whether the sun was already rising just as he couldn’t tell whether Hannibal was with them or not.

“You are going to rip your stitches if you keep moving,” Chiyoh said. Will followed her voice was coming from and squinted his eyes to see that the woman was sitting on the front passenger seat. She wasn’t even looking at him.

Will fixed his posture, hearing the rustling of the plastic sheet on the seat of the car, and groaned as he felt a sharp stab of pain on his right cheek. “Hannibal?”

Chiyoh looked at him, eyes flashing sharply on the rear-view mirror. Her expression was unreadable, more so now that Will’s head was murky. Chiyoh looked away just as their eyes met. “Resting.”

He lolled his head to his right, seeing an unconscious man slumped on his seat. _Hannibal_. Will tried to straighten up, putting a hand up in front of the man’s face like he did when they were in the water, and sighed in relief as he felt the man breathing. He patted the space between them and felt Hannibal’s hand at ease. Will covered it with his own, feeling a sense of solace that the man’s hand was warm.

When he rested his head on the man’s chest just before he sent them falling off the cliff, Will was almost sure he could feel the love radiating off the man—or, at least, the kind of love Hannibal was capable of. It felt rich. Pure, even; like it was a rock that had finally become a polished diamond. On top of all of that, he had finally understood what Bedelia had told him and he finally got the answer to her question.

He did ache for Hannibal. _Badly._

The car came to an abrupt stop. Chiyoh and the three men with them went out of the car, but Will stayed seated until the door to his left opened, briefly wondering why he needed to come out. The driver was already pulling out the plastic sheets inside the car and folding them to fit in a medium-sized paper bag. The door to Hannibal’s right opened as well and two of the men who were in the car with them lifted Hannibal’s body. Will let himself out.

“Be careful with him,” Chiyoh told one of the men as they lowered Hannibal onto a wheelchair. He looked around at what seemed to be a deserted concrete road but quickly realized that they were standing on a small airplane terminal when he saw a private jet sitting idly just a few feet away from their car. He turned back to Chiyoh. “I thought we were flying on a commercial plane?”

“Your disappearance is already all over national television. Flying on a commercial plane would only bring you back to Agent Crawford,” she answered in a whisper, making sure that she and Will were the only ones that could hear the exchange. “Unless that’s part of your plan all along?”

 _They were going to kill him_ , he wanted to tell her, but he knew that if he inasmuch implied something along those lines, Chiyoh would hunt Jack Crawford down and Jack wouldn’t be able to stand a chance. She was, after all, more than dangerous than she would let the people around her believe. Will didn’t want that to happen. He was thankful for Jack in every way. Without Jack barging unceremoniously into his life, there wouldn’t be any Hannibal in it... and Will knew he couldn’t imagine what his life would have been without Hannibal.

Would it have been more peaceful? No. Peace wouldn’t stay long for people with Will Graham’s mind.

They watched as the men wheeled Hannibal toward the jet, lifting the wheelchair with extreme care even though the man sitting on it was still unconscious. When they were the only ones left outside, he turned to Chiyoh. “How did you manage all of this?”

“A lot of people are indebted to the Lecters,” the woman answered without elaborating further, motioning for Will to follow her into the plane. The depth of the Lecters’ secrets kept digging itself in the storage box of Will’s mind and Will found himself continuously enthralled to know what was at the bottom.

“Even the men?”

“No,” Chiyoh said without looking at him, already climbing the airstairs, “they are of service to the Lady Murasaki.”

 

 

⧉ ⧉ ⧉ ⧉ ⧉

 

 

The insides of the jet were filled with cream-colored faux leather that smelled like newly-made plastic. Not that he was complaining, though. In all honesty, it might be even helping Will overcome his headache. Unlike an hour ago, he could now see the faces around him more clearly, could hear the conversations echoing inside the plane more accurately, and he also wasn’t as lightheaded as he had been while they were traveling by car.

Will was seated directly in front of Hannibal, a table filled with food and bottles of water between them, while Chiyoh was on the seat parallel to him. They spent the next two hours of the flight in silence with only soft classical music playing in the background. He stared at Hannibal, watching the rise and fall of his chest and the way that his forehead furrowed every now and then. Will had seen him like this before, but it had never come to Will that someone as dangerous as Hannibal would look so vulnerable in this state.

Across him, the man stirred in his seat, nostrils flaring as he forcefully opened his eyes as if he heard Will’s thoughts out loud. Hannibal’s eyes landed on him and a small disbelieving smile broke on the man’s face.

“Hello, Will.”

He didn’t answer back, didn’t return the courtesy that the man gave him. He couldn’t find his voice. Hannibal regarded him for a moment, the fond expression lingering on his face before trying to straighten himself up. Will was already up from his seat, supporting the man’s back.

“Don’t move too much,” Will told him. His voice sounded hoarse and there was a stale taste in his mouth. Will uncapped an untouched water bottle from the table and lifted it to Hannibal’s lips. “Here.”

“Thank you,” Hannibal said after gulping down a mouthful, gracefully swiping his tongue on his lower lip. The man’s gaze shifted to his right and surprise flashed on his face. “Chiyoh, this is a pleasant surprise.”

Will’s eyes followed Hannibal’s and saw that the same cold expression didn’t leave Chiyoh’s face. “I promised you that I will watch over you. You are not the only one who does not break their promises.”

Hannibal dipped his head, _a sign of gratitude_ , Will interpreted. The man looked around the jet, eyes lingering on the china set behind Will’s seat, then on the Japanese calligraphy placed in a frame on restroom door before taking in a breath and releasing it slowly. Finally, he looked back at Will. “Where are we headed?”

“Anywhere you want,” Will answered almost immediately. He smiled at the man and covered Hannibal’s hand with his own, a sense of contentment washing over him as he felt the familiar warmth of the man’s skin against his palm. Will looked into the man’s eyes. “But for now, Hannibal, we’re going home.”

 

 

⧉ ⧉ ⧉ ⧉ ⧉

 

 

Trees.

Will can vaguely remember what the country looked like when he was still trying to understand Hannibal, but the memory that stood out the most was the line of overgrown pine trees. He could see them everywhere as they drove north along the narrow road that led to the countryside.

Before they embarked on the three-hour ride to the castle, Chiyoh thanked the men who accompanied them, told them that their services were no longer required for the time being, and briefly conversed in their native language. Will didn’t need a translator to know that they would see each other once again when Hannibal had finally decided where to go from here.

Which, preferably, would be in three days.

In all honesty, however, it was him who wasn’t sure about any of this. A part of him wanted to run away, to go back to his wife and son and motorboats, but the other part of him kept telling him to stay beside Hannibal and never let go. Evidently, the latter was winning. The moment they got out of the jet, he could hear Bedelia’s words echoing inside his mind.

_Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes, but do you ache for him?_

He ached for Hannibal, that much was true, but he wasn’t sure whether he still ached to feel the pleasure of killing the man all by himself or if what he felt was entirely something else. Will looked at Hannibal who was peacefully sleeping beside him. His hand was still covering the other’s, drawing small circles on the back of Hannibal’s hand and occasionally squeezing it gently to reassure himself that this was real.

Will heard the loud creaking of the metal gates—Chiyoh must have removed the chains before executing the plan—but he didn’t tear his eyes away from Hannibal’s face. He heard the front door open, followed by the sound of a woman’s voice after Chiyoh’s greeting, yet Will still didn’t budge. He couldn’t seem to move his eyes away from Hannibal’s face until he felt a pair of eyes watching him.

“Hello. I believe we haven’t been introduced,” Will said softly, looking at the woman on the front seat next to Chiyoh. He couldn’t see her face clearly, but Will knew that he had seen her before.

“Professor Graham.” The woman turned back to face front, looking at Will through the rear-view mirror. “It’s nice to see that you came out alive.”

“I’m sorry,” Will replied after a pregnant pause, looking back at Hannibal. He was rarely called ‘professor’ outside of the Academy and hearing the title again almost made him flinch. “I feel like I should know you.”

“I was one of your students.”

 _That_ certainly caught his attention and his mind raced with several questions. _Why would an FBI trainee help them? Why hadn’t he heard that Hannibal had a mole in the Academy?_ Will briefly snuck a look at her in the rear-view mirror then turned his gaze on Chiyoh, looking for any sign that this might be a set-up. It wasn’t. If it was, Chiyoh gave no hint.

Will opened his mouth just as Chiyoh pulled up in front of the castle and opened her door. “Which one?”

His ‘former student’ got out of her seat and opened the door next to Will, looking down at him with a smile. “Clarice Starling. Shall we?”

They unloaded the wheelchair out of the trunk and transferred Hannibal onto it. The man was still asleep, breathing out warm puffs of air. Clarice offered to wheel Hannibal inside the castle when Chiyoh came back with a lamp as Will dragged a suitcase and lit up a pocket-sized flashlight given to him by Clarice.

Apart from all the dust visible in the moonlight that graced the halls of Castle Lecter, everything still very much looked pristine even though there was no furniture decorating the halls except a massive bookshelf with no books, a chandelier, and a round table in the center. The large wooden staircases on both sides were almost invisible in the dark.

“The last time I was here, everything was locked.”

“It’s still very much that way,” Clarice said, looking over her shoulder as she wheeled Hannibal to match Will’s pace. “Chiyoh only unlocked four rooms in the east wing. The trees conceal the smoke of the fireplaces in each room so as not draw attention on the castle.”

Will simply glanced at her and said nothing in reply. He turned the flashlight to the second floor where the two staircases met in the middle to reveal a massive double-door locked with chains. There was a trail of curiosity that shadowed the woman with them and it was knocking at the door of Will’s mind.

“If you don’t mind,” he started, eyes turning to Chiyoh to see if she was interested in whatever he had to ask, “you’re a trainee at the Academy. Why are you here helping us?”

Clarice didn’t even seem to flinch at his question as she looked at Chiyoh meaningfully with a smile before opening the door to Hannibal’s room. Unlike the rest of the castle, there were still pieces of furniture left in the suite: a bed with newly-made sheets, a bedside drawer, a full-length mirror, and two large paintings. One was positioned overhead of the bed and the other one was near the door to a connecting room.

It was not until they had settled Hannibal down onto the bed that Clarice spoke again, her voice soft and close enough to a whisper. “Hannibal gave me the life that I have now. It’s the least I can do for him.”

“Thank you,” Will replied, unsure what other words he had to offer.

“No need,” Clarice said with the same smile she gave Chiyoh a few moments before, her hand on the doorknob. “After all, I’ll still need you to act as if we haven’t met.”

 

 

⧉ ⧉ ⧉ ⧉ ⧉

 

 

It was later, _much later_ , when Hannibal finally roused from his deep sleep. It was almost a quarter to three when he did, coughing a little as he tried to sit up. Will sat on the edge of the bed and didn’t leave his side all night, alternating between watching him and damping off a warm towel on the man’s forehead.

Hannibal’s eyes were on him, tracing the lines of his face. Under any other circumstances, Will would’ve felt insecure under such scrutiny; he would’ve felt stripped naked, even. But Hannibal was drinking in his sight like a fine wine that had been finally opened after years of storage and Will felt as if his gaze was washing over him like a fountain of spring.

“Drink up,” Will said after a few moments of eyeing each other. He motioned to the breakfast tray next to the lamp on top of the bedside drawer, the contents were still warm. “Are you hungry? Chiyoh prepared roasted duck and some soup for you.”

The man nodded and Will was glad that he didn’t try to ask what kind of soup it was. He moved the breakfast tray onto Hannibal’s lap and opened the containers. Will sat on the foot of the bed as the man ate quietly, busying himself with the worn-out journal he found inside the bedside table.

“You don’t have to do any of this, Will,” Hannibal said, prompting Will to look up. The man had already arranged the things on his lap and was now sitting with his back pressed to the headboard. “You are free to go back to your family.”

Will closed the journal with a sigh. “What happened to me being family?”

“I meant to your wife and son.”

He could hear the masked reluctance in Hannibal’s voice, telling him that what he was offering to him wasn’t what the man really wanted. It made him feel as if he was wanted— _needed_. Hannibal made him feel things that he had longed to feel for so long.

“That still wouldn’t make my feelings about you go away, would it?” Will moved back to where he was originally seated, closing the space between him and Hannibal. “I’m not doing this to make myself feel better if that’s what you’re accusing me of.”

Hannibal tilted his head slightly to the side. “Do I sound like I’m accusing you of anything?”

“No.” Will tried to find the amusement in his eyes, but there was none. “But you’re dangerously close to sounding like you don’t want me to be here.”

“Ah. Forgive me. I do want you here, Will.”

“Good,” Will said as he carefully put the journal back inside the drawer, eyes lingering on the table as tried to avoid looking at the man for what he was about to say. “And I’m doing this because I want to. I chose this, Hannibal. I chose you.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“How do you feel?” He asked, finally turning back to Hannibal who greeted him with a smile that formed wrinkles on the side of his eyes.

It was endearing to see.

“Like a dove spreading its wings for the first time after a long storm.”


End file.
